Let Me Sing
by Beckon
Summary: Slowly and softly, he sang to her.


**A/N: I had the idea for a bit and decided to pop out a story if I could make it work. It's weird, even I have to admit and maybe out of character to some but I like it- strangely enough, although it took me two days to finally come around to it. If you don't like it, well that's your opinion and if you want to tell me, I can't stop you; it's not a perfect story but I like to try and look at this couple in different ways. **

He didn't care for the dangers.

He couldn't care for the mud that slightly hindered his movement.

The only thing he cared for was the fallen, white form of the only sense of beauty in this war.

He didn't really notice the way his knees sunk slightly into the unstable ground; never minding the cold feel of the mud as it sunk through his white robes and stained the thin material. Fingers touched at the blood-coated white fur that engulfed her true form; lightly tangling in the thick, silk-like fur that had once been a rarity to touch- it's soft features now marred by dirt, blood and broken shards of weapons. In the heat of the battle, in the bloodshed of half the enemy forces… it seemed like she had forgotten her own mortality. Her body had withstood far more damage than any mortal Beorc could and far more than any other Laguz could boast about but she still had her own breaking points; she was still capable of death.

"_Rafiel…"_

He lightly buried his face into the soft curve of the back of her neck; his massive wings carefully folding over her body to block it from view. Her body lifted with every heavy breath which seemed to tear her wounds open even more; the scent and sight of blood made him light-headed but he wouldn't dare to pull himself away from her side. She needed him, even if she wouldn't admit it.

Slowly and softly, he sang to her; hoping the words would have enough strength to heal her wounds; praying that his words would be enough to save her. Every word that left him was whispered with every form of emotion; those words… which were deemed so holy that they were to only be sung to the Goddess, he sang to her. He continued to sing even as he felt her body changing beneath him; her thick coat changed to flesh beneath his fingers as her Laguz form shifted away into the feminine body that was the envy and symbol of the desert. Regardless of the change, he continued to hold her against him and shield her from the world with his wings; at this moment… he didn't want to share her with anyone else. It was selfish and completely opposite of what he was supposed to be but he wanted to accept that no one was perfect; and if not, then he would pray for forgiveness later.

"Rafiel."

"My Queen…" the words felt numb on his lips as he started to release her only to draw her closer to him instead; holding her tighter against him. "Please… never do something like that again."

Her fingertips seemed to dance on his cheek before she carefully wiggled herself free from his hold; her motion was gentle as though afraid she would hurt his feelings by putting space between them. Soft pink patches of skin marked the places that had been torn open just moments before; her sides and legs were marked so heavily with them… it was almost impossible to see the tanned skin underneath. They would heal again in time but the pink scars were enough to remind him of the close encounter he just witnessed; if he could've healed them faster or better, he would have…

"Your robes are dirty."

Her simplistic remark was short and quick as her single eye seemed to frown at the stains.

And yet, it was she who was dressed in drying blood and caked in mud that had once stuck her fur into matted pieces; whose clothing was torn and ragged slightly by the heat of the battle before her full release. Her gray curls were messy and disarranged; her eyepatch was slightly skewed to one side; even her white tail was disheveled.

"You managed to take out more than half the enemy forces on your own; the Brigade is taking care of the rest." he started as he watched as she carefully began to push herself to her feet; giving him a clean view of the pink scars that traced long disfigurements down her legs.

"More than half, you say?" she mused as she tried to dust herself off as best she could- not that she cared much for her appearance in battle. Blood and mud were all she needed to wear as medals. "If those arrows hadn't hit me, I would've been able to get them all."

Of course… she wouldn't recognize her own mortality in the situation; she never bothered herself with it. She lived by the standard that it was not reasonable to dwell on the past; if she was alive now, it was for the future and past incidents were not worth reviewing. But… that kind of mentality kept her sharp and alert; it kept her from troubling herself with past events… even if they were just minutes ago.

"I…"

"Rafiel, I'm not dead; stop worrying."

"But… you could've been." he whispered.

Her silence almost seemed to haunt him. "Do you doubt my abilities to keep myself alive?"

"I would never doubt you, My Queen… I just… I worry."

A low sigh left her as she reached down and helped him to his feet; her single eye now having to look up at him instead. "I've faced my own mortality in the Great Flood; I've faced it hundreds of years ago- I've gone through hundreds of years of close encounters… this incident is nothing compared to those. These scars are only reminders of the struggle I go through to protect you; these scars… they also show me how far you'll go to return the favor."


End file.
